


Streetlights

by IcyPassions



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Angst, Boys In Love, Cooking, Damon Hill's A+ Parenting, Domestic, Falling In Love, Homeless!Carlos, Homeless!Lando, Homelessness, Homophobia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Confusion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:47:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23619250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPassions/pseuds/IcyPassions
Summary: Lando and Carlos end up homeless on the streets of London for very different reasons. They team up to survive the hunger, loneliness, and the unknown.George works at his father Damon's fine cafe in downtown, by no choice of his own. Cue Alex, who is a cook at the cafe and tries to help George through it all when the pairs cross paths and feelings get involved.
Relationships: Lando Norris/George Russell
Comments: 21
Kudos: 56





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so I've sort of reinvigorated my approach to longfic to see if it works this time. Basically, I write out the framework of what want and then go back through about a billion times adding and subtracting stuff (mostly adding) until I like it. I hope it's worked, and I hope you enjoy.
> 
> This work is entirely of fiction. Please don't share it outside of fanfiction circles!

“Carlos, wake up. We gotta get moving.”

Carlos groaned and batted away Lando’s hand. He rubbed his eyes with the pads of his fingers, clearing them of the crust that had built up over the night. He began incrementally prying open his eyelids to allow the stinging daylight in, at least as much as could be had on a cloudy day in downtown London. Lando slung his backpack over his shoulder and dropped Carlos’s in front of the Spaniard.

“Where do you get so much energy? You are like a small child.”

“I told you not to call me that” Lando cut in sternly.

Carlos sat up on the park bench with a sigh and stretched his limbs, buying time for his brain to unscramble itself and prepare for another day on the streets. He topped off his stretch with a wide yawn and did his best to rearrange his hair to an acceptable standard with his phone camera.

“We’re not off to a beauty pageant, mate.”

“Yeah, shut up. You have hair that does not need work. I’m trying to not look homeless, you know.”

It had been their reality for two weeks, at least according to Lando who still had the date engrained in his mind: the day he came out as gay to his father and was promptly kicked out of the house, July 13. Lando had known he was gay for a few years and finally had built up the courage to tell his father. He wasn’t prepared for the battering and screaming from him. He wasn’t prepared for a night on the street, dodging police and thugs and never getting a wink of sleep, crying on the bench they’d just woken up on today and wondering if he’d ever be able to go home again.

_“You’re a disgusting fag, and I won’t allow you to live under this roof!”_

Carlos had emigrated from Spain, a prospective student looking for a better life, but soon ran into money troubles when the shop he was working at closed its doors. After trying and failing to collect enough unemployment or find another job for a fresh immigrant, and having poorer parents unable to help, the missed payments on his too-big-to-chew London apartment piled up and turned into an eviction notice.

_“I’m sorry Mr. Sainz, you need to leave today. Best of luck.”_

~

He’d met Lando on his second night out.

The Spaniard was treading through Hyde Park, looking for a place to set up camp when he saw a figure dart away in the corner of his vision. He snapped his head in that direction, light on his heels, keenly scanning for another move. Getting jumped was _not_ on his to-do list.

He took a cautious step towards where he thought he’d seen something… then another, and another, curiosity overriding his fight-or-flight. He came upon a human shape hiding behind a tree, knees to its chest and head buried down.

“I’m not going to hurt you” he tried softly, afraid of startling the person.

Slowly, two shocking blue eyes made their way up Carlos’s form and met his own. They were brimmed with tears, and the boy’s bottom lip quivered. His fluffy curls were a mess on his head.

Carlos sat down in front of him, legs crossed, and performed the only English introduction he knew. “Hi, my name is Carlos.”

“…Lando,” the younger managed to croak.

“How young are you?”

“…sixteen.”

Sixteen. Carlos was taken aback; why was someone this young in the park at night?

He inquired as such. “Why are you out here this late? You should be at home.”

Lando dropped his head back down to his knees and sobbed loudly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” _Ugh._ Carlos wasn’t sure what to do, so he kept his mouth shut and awkwardly looked at the ground. He silently prayed Lando would quiet down before they were caught.

Abruptly, Lando stopped and looked back up at Carlos.

“I got kicked out of the house. I’m gay.”

“Ay, caramba…” Again, Carlos was caught off guard. What horrible parent would send their child to the streets for who they like? He found it difficult to imagine such cruelty, and his heart practically shattered at the revelation.

He couldn’t possibly leave Lando alone. The boy was way too young for the streets, for the crime and the violence and the raw, disgusting reality of it. He wouldn’t survive a week if he tried.

Carlos glanced back up, his mind made. “I would like to help you. I’m homeless too.”

Lando rebutted quickly through his tears and hiccups. “It’s fine, you don’t need to. I probably deserve this anyway. And how do I know you won’t kill me?”

In a moment of quick thinking, Carlos grabbed a granola bar from his bag and tossed it in front of Lando. “Would a killer feed you?” he tried.

Lando eyed the bar at his feet but didn’t budge. “Maybe a kidnapper would.”

Carlos pulled a face of disappointment. “Do I look like a kidnapper to you?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never seen one.” Lando rested his chin on his knee and looked expectantly back at Carlos.

“If I was a kidnapper, I would have taken you by now. There are too many police around. Now eat up, little one.”

“I’m not little!” Lando spat as he ripped open the wrapper and took a hearty bite in some attempt at a masculine display. “This could be poisoned, and I’ve just eaten it,” he smacked with a mouth full of granola.

Carlos puffed a bit of air out his nose. “You’ve fallen for my trap,” he deadpanned.

The tiniest of smiles crept onto Lando’s face. Taking food from a stranger at night went against everything he was ever taught as a kid, but something told him Carlos wasn’t put on Earth to kill him. He chewed contently as the older man scooted up next to him. Lando welcomed the closeness. If he was to survive on the street, he would need to throw caution to the wind and trust Carlos. There wasn’t much to lose.

~*~

“Alex, need carbonara!”

“Heard!”

George hurried back out to the fine buffet line to make sure they weren’t running out of something _else_. Aintree Café was at its busiest on Sunday mornings, when throngs would arrive on their days off to grab a spot of the finest lunch in town. To accommodate everyone, Damon decided that a buffet of the best options on the menu was in order, and George hated it with every fiber of his being. His dad was always inventing new ways to bring more people in, putting George under ever-increasing pressure and stress.

Alex’s situation was no better; as a line cook, the increased demand made each day more tiring than the last, using all his focus to prepare two menu meals at once on top of the _blasted_ buffet that ruined his own Sundays, too. He and George liked talking smack about Damon’s grand plans as they cleaned up the kitchen at day’s end; it was a bond on one similarity despite their vastly different backgrounds.

George was in 11th year at a private school on the outskirts of London. Born into wealth, he was always told to keep to himself and focus on his studies. His parents divorced when he was 13, his father returning to the Hill name while George remained a Russell. Damon insisted he change it as well, but he refused on the grounds of heartbreak at his mother’s leave. Damon eventually relented, and they’d held a silent truce since. One thing George couldn’t get around though was his work at Aintree. His father had grown the business from one tiny corner shop into three larger locations around the city, the busiest at which he made George work, and at a lower pay rate than the others since George “already lived under his roof and ate his food”. It made George’s blood boil, and he longed to move on to the next chapter of his life, away from his despicable father and the stupid cafe. He was at least 90% sure that underpaying him was illegal, too, but he would never say anything lest he risk an unholy tirade from Damon.

Alex’s family had emigrated to London a few years prior and he’d practically begged Damon for the job, dressed in his nicest clothes and having beefed up his resume as much as possible. He needed the high pay to help his family afford their downtown apartment and Aintree was the only place around that suited his culinary skill developed back home. Damon agreed, to Alex’s surprise, and the Thai worked whenever he could and as hard as he could to prove his worth at the café. He quickly made friends with the other line cook, Kevin, and the head chef, Romain, who were both more easygoing than he’d expected. They kept him honest in his work but still fostered an ultimately worthwhile job experience through endless kitchen banter. George was proving a tougher nut to crack, but Alex still put in the effort to extend the olive branch.

“Alex, take one of those knives and stab it in my neck, right here.” George lifted his head and made a slicing motion across his jugular.

“Heard!” Alex shouted over his shoulder, tending to the pasta on the flat top. He set the spoon down and turned around, peering at George through the order slips on the line. “Only 30 more minutes ‘till close, you’ll be fine.”

“No, I won’t. Damon will still let people in an hour after close if he can make another couple quid, you _know_ that. Now get my fucking carbonara.”

“Jeez, alright your highness” Alex retorted with a highly exaggerated bow.

“Don’t fucking call me that.”

Indeed, an hour later, the final customers had been served and Alex had begun cleaning up the kitchen alongside Kevin as George ran dishes and plates to the dishhole. The latter was hastily making his way back towards the kitchen door when Damon stepped in and halted the speedy teenager in his tracks.

“Easy there, you don’t want to slip and break something, you won’t be able to work!” he trumpeted.

George huffed and stared straight ahead, avoiding his father’s gaze.

Damon lifted his head to the rest of the kitchen. “Remember everyone to lock the bins when you’ve taken the trash out, we don’t need the beggars going through it. Have a good evening!” He plastered on a fake smile and departed as quickly as he’d arrived.

Alex watched George stand in place, eyes straight and fists so tightly clenched they could make diamonds from coal. He swore he even saw steam coming from the brit’s ears. Maybe it was just the hot mop water in front of him, but it didn’t seem unreasonable to be the former.

After a minute or so, George allowed his shoulders to sag, released his grip on himself, took a deep breath, and stepped back out to grab more dishes.

Alex would be lying if he said he didn’t care about George’s well-being. Yeah, he was a hard-headed mess sometimes, but after so long in the kitchen it was easy to tell that he wanted nothing to do with Damon and to just drop it all and leave. Leave to a faraway school or some other place where he was appreciated as more than a lowly runner-waiter in his father’s _real_ pride and joy. He hoped he could get George to talk before they both moved out for real; after all, they were both in the same year at school.

Kevin yanked him from his thoughts. “Hey, you done staring at the foil? Trying to make it fuckin’ levitate or something?

“Shit, yeah, sorry” he replied, turning to face the Dane but still partially in his thoughts.

“Good. Take this trash pot to the ‘hole, magic man.”

Alex gripped the handles and lifted in a fashion that allowed the flipping of the double bird to his coworker, in the trademark kitchen salute.

~

George was wrapping up the final few trash bags and consolidating them in one large one, holding his breath to avoid taking in the awful stench of the day’s waste. Along with the trash was a large clear bag of day-old rolls that Damon had marked for disposal, despite them having been frozen and untainted.

_God, what a horrible waste,_ he thought to himself. Still, he couldn’t afford to disobey Damon- it would mean severe punishment if the micromanager himself discovered the rolls later.

George hoisted the massive trash bag over his shoulder and grabbed the buns with his free hand. He backed up against the side door of the café, pressing the latch in and stepping out into the evening sunlit alley towards the bins. After assuring clearance from the self-closing door, he turned around and made his way to the largest bin. He set the bags down and dug in his pocket for the bin key- which he didn’t find. “Blast it!”

He returned to the door and flung it open, storming back inside to locate the missing key. Following an arduous search of the shelving inside, during which he completely ruined Damon’s organization of it, he finally found the one with the peeling pink tape on its end.

George stepped back out the rear door to the sight of two men crouching next to the bins, raring to make their move on the bags he’d left out. He tried to speak, to shout, to send them off- but he couldn’t make a sound. He locked eyes with the curly-haired one in front who stared back just as intently, mouth agape. His steel-blue eyes were unlike any he’d ever seen before. The man- no, _boy_ \- hardly looked a day over fifteen. But before he could kick his brain into gear, the two darted away back up the alley and out to the street.

George continued standing there, processing what had just happened. Damon was right, the “beggars” had nearly gotten into the trash- _but why stop them?_ George pondered to himself. The alley was mostly hidden from sight, so no one would probably see them, and why not let the uneaten food be eaten? Those buns, hardly a day old, a whole bag full, just being pitched. Beggars weren’t choosers- they wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

George decided right then and there to directly disobey Damon- playing with fire, he knew- but maybe it was about time he let his father know he wasn’t to be bossed around like a wee toddler.

He pulled one of the bins out away from the exterior wall a bit, grabbed the rolls, and set them behind the bin, hidden from immediate sight of anyone just out the back door. He pushed the bin back a bit closer to the wall to better obscure his work, then had another idea float to his brain.

The teen darted back inside and searched the now-destroyed shelves for a pad and paper. Upon locating them, he set the pad on the counter and scribbled:

_More where this came from. Come back here each day._

This was quickly becoming the most daring thing he’d ever done to oppose his father but it felt _good_ , like he was finally in control of himself and his destiny no matter how it turned out, and if it ended up with him crying in his room after a thirty-minute degrading shouting match then at least it was his own decision that brought him there.

He ripped the sheet off the pad, ran back out and stuffed the note between the tie and the plastic of the bag. He hoped the cute boy and his friend would see-

_What the fuck did I just call him?_

_Cute?_

_Jesus Christ, G._

George had never loved, again as a result of his father’s strict guidance towards a “happy and successful life”. Love came later according to Damon, after all of the money had been made and a man was settled down a bit. Young love was “fake”, he’d said, and fleeting, and “it never worked out”. He never allowed George to date.

Putting out food for the homeless was already about three steps past the line Damon had drawn. Love was nearly out of the question. Being sheltered for so long, he didn’t even really know who he fancied, boys or girls or both or neither or somewhere in between. He knew he wanted to love, to actually be able to cherish someone in his life, but the entire concept made his head spin. Now was not a good time to fall in love with a homeless boy he’d seen once for a few seconds. And was it even love? Or just an admiration?

_Why am I suddenly pondering the circumstances and specifics of love in an alleyway?_

Alex stepped out the back door with a pot of grease and noticed the brit standing motionless, eyes straight ahead, but without the clenched fists this time. “Wow, look at that ugly statue!” he called out.

“Fuck you” he spat back, accompanied by a middle finger.

“What are you doing, though? The rubbish won’t put itself in there.”

He gestured with his head towards the giant black bag still sitting in front of them. George finally convinced his muscles to move again and unlocked the bin, tossing the bag in and relocking it while Alex poured the grease into a special bin beside the trash. George took the opportunity to sneak one final look at his plant, allowing one more prayer they’d find it but sans the “cute” part.

“What are you looking at?” inquired Alex.

“Oh, it’s… nothing.” George turned, avoiding Alex’s gaze and made his way back inside.

Alex soon followed, deciding now probably wasn’t the time to further investigate George’s sudden interest in food waste. He was better at picking brains, anyway. He’d figure out what was up _eventually._


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carlos scolds Lando for the near miss.
> 
> George ponders the possibility of love.
> 
> Alex cooks dinner for his family, that's like basically it for now
> 
> Lando returns to Aintree and finds George's surprise.

“Excuse me Lando, but what the fuck was that?!” Carlos tried to keep his voice low given the circumstances as they sat on “their” bench back in Hyde Park.

“Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t know when they take the rubbish out! I just thought since it’s a nice restaurant that they might actually have something decent!”

“Well that doesn’t really matter now that we’ll probably get reported to the police!”

A couple of heads on the sidewalk turned in their direction. Carlos sank down a few inches and tried to ward off the suspicion with silence and a casual seating position. Lando caught on and followed suit, at least until the vicinity was clear.

“Who exactly is getting us copped now, hmm?” he shot back, voice dripping with pure sass.

Carlos had no verbal response so he simply turned to Lando and gave him the angriest death glare he could muster. Lando feigned fear, throwing his hand to his chest and leaning away from Carlos wearing an also-fake shocked expression.

Carlos was near socking the kid in the face but couldn’t afford to do anything more in public. He resorted to just turning his head back straight and focusing on a faraway rooftop. He hoped Lando would mature out of this soon, or else he’d probably go mad.

_It’s your fault for befriending an actual child._

At least Lando couldn’t hear him say it in his mind and subsequently correct him on his already-correct assessment of the boy’s mentality.

~*~

George silently clicked the front door shut, kicked off his shoes and immediately turned towards the stairs, towards the relative safety of his room. The very last thing he needed was another speech from his father about “investing” or “being smart with money” or some political rant.

It turned out tonight was a lucky shake, and he again silently clicked his door shut and tossed himself onto his bed.

As he stared at the ceiling, his mind immediately drifted to his encounter with the homeless boy. It would probably make things worse, but he wanted to figure out what exactly he was feeling. The boy’s eyes were bold, full of light, unlike any other pair he’d ever seen. His face had a few imperfections, a little acne or a couple moles, but it hardly mattered because the shape was near-perfect. His curly hair, flicked up at the front, untamed and ruthless, was the icing on top.

George tried for seemingly ages to come up with a word to describe him objectively, but he just kept coming back to cute. Maybe it really was the only way to go about it. It was the first thing he thought of that day upon seeing him. He recalled reading about “love at first sight” on a few notable occasions and had always thought it a myth, but began pondering the fact that maybe it was really happening to him.

He rolled over onto his front and pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped on the Chrome app and began googling, hoping someone else on the internet was in the same situation he was.

am I in love

what does love feel like

love at first sight stories

After a long time spent online and ultimately leaving with more questions than answers, he frustratedly set his phone down on the nightstand next to his alarm clock, reading 10:58pm in bright green characters.

_Might as well get a shower in._ It was the perfect think tank, he’d found over the years. Silently once more, he slinked out of his room and into the bathroom down the hall.

~*~

  
“Alex, when is dinner dooonnneee?”

Sigh. “Soon.”

After losing his father to the brutal underground drug trade in Thailand (of which the rest of the family knew nothing about), Alex was now the man of the household, or at least he was doing his best to be. He grasped the pan handle and tossed the chicken once more, then turning his attention to the special sauce on the opposite counter, trying to follow the recipe to the exacting standards of his grandparents who’d first made it and put it to paper. Ever since he was little, his mother had welcomed him into the kitchen instead of shooing him away, taking time to show him how to cook and bake and letting him progressively engage more as he got older. It was the only reason he had his job at Aintree and the only reason his family could afford to live their new life in a very different place from back home.

His hands flew from cupboard to cupboard, grabbing and replacing spices and powders and liquids as they all made their way into the sauce. If there was a way to whisk with elegance, he did so, ensuring the sauce remained thick enough to perfectly envelop the chicken.

As he set the whisk down on the counter his timer went off, spinning him around to the chicken once more to rescue it from burning. He quickly slid it onto an inactive burner spot, switched off the previous burner, and covered the meat.

Another few minutes on Tik Tok later, Alex grabbed the sauce bowl, lifted the lid on the chicken, and poured it in, stirring as he did so to coat every piece.

His nightly masterpiece was complete, and he shouted out to the rest of the household to announce it so.

The Albons ate in silence, as they usually did, and Alex was the first finished. He set his clean plate in the sink and retired to his room for the evening, trying to recall what George had all done suspicious in the alleyway that day. It was very unlike George to be unsteady on his feet and unsure of his words as he was. He decided not to bother too much for the time being, returning to his phone for an easy distraction from the day.

~*~

Lando crept silently out of the park that night, back in the direction of Aintree. He could never have convinced Carlos to come back, not in a million years, but he couldn’t stop him if he was asleep. He was sure there was good stuff to be found behind the famous café, and that it had just been an error in judgement to visit in the afternoon.

He counted the blocks from memory until he saw Aintree’s sign lit up above the window. Lando snuck a quick scan of his surroundings for police, then ducked into the alley.

There, directly under a lone lightbulb on the exterior wall, sat a bag of rolls. Lando could hardly believe his luck, these would feed them for at least a few days if they rationed them right. He knelt down beside the bin they were hidden behind and noticed a slip of paper resting on top. He grabbed it and read it.

“Holy fudge…”

Not only had he found food, but whoever saw him wanted to give him more. Now the only issue was convincing Carlos to return. He could keep sneaking out in the night, but it was risky. He would look more suspicious and Carlos would surely catch on at some point. Still, this was a win. He stuffed the note in his pocket, stuffed the bag of rolls in his backpack, and hurried out back towards Hyde Park.


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex grows more suspicious of George's behavior and tries to find out what's behind it.
> 
> Lando and Carlos continue to row over methods of food gathering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sooooooooooooooooo sorry for taking forever to update this. I needed some time off to figure out some important life issues and just relax and read a bit. I hope you're all still around for it.

George’s mind was engulfed in a whirlwind of thoughts to himself at the Café the next day. There was one singular benefit to being a runner: you didn’t need to interact with customers. That gave George plenty of time to try and figure out how to discern a basic observation from an emotion he had never experienced before, that of love. And it was giving him a very hard time, so much so that Alex had taken notice, being the eagle-eyed teen he was. Mondays were always slower, so the Thai had plenty of time to jump onto George’s mental rollercoaster, tracking his every frustrated and choppy move and motion as the orders refused to come in. Eventually however, George noticed his watchfulness on his way back in from the lounge.

The brit stopped dead in his tracks in front of Alex and faced him. “What the fuck did I do now?” he shot across the counter, exasperated.

A lame “sorry” was all Alex could muster before he sheepishly returned his attention to the flat top. Just as he’d suspected, there was something big on George’s mind and it was likely to do with yesterday’s happenings, but he couldn’t quite connect the two without more evidence. He kept his head down at the cheese container beside the flat top for a little longer to make sure George had gone before daring to turn back around.

~*~

“Surprise!”

Lando yanked the bag of rolls from his backpack and proudly displayed them to Carlos as the older man slowly woke.

“Um… where the fuck did you find those?” Carlos slowly sat up, reaching out and grabbing the bag from Lando’s hands.

“I uh… went for a walk this morning and a shop owner gave them to me.”

Carlos clearly wasn’t convinced, conveying so through his pursed lips and raised eyebrows. “I don’t believe you,” he refuted. “You stole these, didn’t you?”

“No, I found them! Maybe the owner didn’t give them to me _directly_ but they were left out, with a note and everything!”

“Pffffpt, there’s no shop that just leaves bread out. Try again.”

“Carlos, I promise!” Lando pleaded, his voice rising almost to a shout.

Carlos rolled his head back, arching his neck over the back of the bench in exasperation.

A moment of contemplation later, he snapped his head up and glared at Lando. “This sneaking around stuff needs to end, or we will go to jail. Just by living on the street we are already breaking the law. This is two times in one day you have almost gotten us into trouble, Lando. If you don’t stop fucking around then I will have to leave you. Maybe you can afford to go to jail, but I cannot.”

Carlos’s words were a thick dagger to Lando’s heart. The brit’s eyes began to well up. He felt he’d just been doing his best to help them both, but Carlos clearly wasn’t having it. His insides churned in anger. He shakily retorted back the first thing that came to his mind.

“Fine, I’ll just go then. Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s given up on me.”

With that, Lando nicked back the bread from Carlos’s hands and set off alone, deeper into Hyde Park, wiping his tears before they spilled over.

~*~

Alex threw his apron in the washbin after clocking out for the day and loitered around the computer to see what George would do. The Thai had decided later on in his shift that a more direct approach would be needed to help George out of his funk and find out what was up. The brit would never spill anything he wasn’t forced to. He could pretty reliably count on him heading into the freezer to take inventory, and sure enough, George passed behind Alex and down the hall towards the freezer. After hearing the large door click shut, Alex turned and strolled down the hall as well. He yanked open the door, causing George to yelp in surprise, and quickly closed it behind him.

“Alex, what the fuck? You can go home, you know.” George mentioned as he took a second to gather himself.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Alex demanded, leaning his back against the door and crossing his arms.

“What do you mean, there’s nothing.” George resumed his checks, returning his gaze to the shelves of frozen stock.

“You’re a terrible liar. You’ve been acting different all day. You can trust me with anything, I promise.” Alex tried.

George hesitated briefly and sighed. “No, Alex. Please. Let me solve this one myself.”

Alex, accepting defeat for the moment, turned on his heels and yanked open the freezer door to make his frustrated exit.

George waited until the freezer door clicked back shut to resume his search for something adequate to give to the homeless boy. He eventually spotted a bag of mixed vegetables on the middle shelf that had expired a couple of days back. Once acquired, he made his way out the freezer and down the hall to the alleyway, watching nervously for Alex’s prying eyes as he stepped.

He set the bag exactly as he had the previous evening, sans the note since his special customer would know to continue returning already. Satisfied, he turned to head back to the side door.

Alex abruptly leapt out from behind the grease bin, shouting “A-ha!”

The Thai’s antics earned a drawn-out groan from George. “Alex, please just leave me be.”

Alex blocked his path back to the door with his outstretched arms. “Not before you tell me why you’ve decided not to put food waste in the bin, and instead in a very specific spot behind the bin.”

George was cornered. His shoes became objects of prime interest as he tried to come up with an excuse. The longer the silence dragged on, the more apparent it became that he’d just need to tell the truth. _Fuck it._

“I’m… helping a homeless kid. He looks really young and in trouble and I kind of hate my dad too so I figured I’d put out expired food for him to take. You happy?”

Alex processed for a moment, then gave an affirmative nod. “Yes. And I approve.”

The two exchanged small smiles, affirming their common thoughts on the subject, but Alex didn’t budge.

“Now, as nice as that is, and as tough as it is to defy Damon, I don’t think that’s why you were snappy at me this morning. Sure there isn’t anything… else?”

“I thought you said you were satisfied.”

“I sort of lied. Now c’mon, spill the _real_ stuff.”

George once again took notice of his filthy pair of Converse, trying to decide whether to continue the façade or trust Alex with information he himself didn’t even have a full grasp on yet. Alex remained silent allowing George to decide, which was nice enough, he figured, to deserve a glimpse into his mind.

“I… think I might be in love? Possibly?” he tried, and instantly grimaced at his wavering voice.

Alex’s eyebrows raised and his true, cheeky smile returned. “Yes, _there_ it is. Now, tell me all about her.”

“This wasn’t part of the question.”

“I know, but I’m the only other one who knows about this, so you might as well give me the full story.”

George sighed. “Well, it’s… complicated. See I think I mig-“

The side door banged open, revealing Damon’s fake smile as he turned to face the boys. “What are you two still out here for? The dishes won’t clean themselves!” he sing-songed.

“Yeah, coming” George resigned. For once, he silently thanked his father for saving him from an awkward situation.


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ayo I'm back, and our protagonists finally get to meet...

A chilled wind whirled through the downtown streets as Lando trudged back towards Aintree, the setting sun at his back, nearly ready to turn over illumination duties to the streetlamps. His thoughts tumbled around inside his skull as his legs autopiloted him onward. He doubted he’d be able to go back to Carlos now. He was only trying to help, he thought. Carlos had seemed to be upset at him taking food from major sources, but Lando struggled to stand in the Spaniard’s shoes and think of a reason why. If anything, digging in the trash aught to be more suspicious, no? And what of the blue-eyed tall boy that had caught them? Lando vividly could recall his face, his expression, his dress, his stance, and butterflies fluttered inside his chest each and every time he did so. Maybe he could help Lando if he felt the same. But it wasn’t likely. Who would want to love a street rat like himself?

Lando almost didn’t look up in time to spot the familiar sign hanging from the front of the café. He stopped, peering inside the front windows to see if anyone was inside. The lights were few and dim, and he couldn’t spot anyone, so Lando drew a deep breath of resolve and continued walking around the corner to the alley.

Behind the small dumpster sat another bag, and Lando couldn’t help but grin at the success of his arrangement. Maybe splitting off from Carlos wasn’t so bad, after all. He knelt down and grabbed it, identifying it as a frozen vegetable medley. Not his ideal choice, but it wasn’t like he had any choice. He slung his backpack off his back and unzipped the top to stuff the bag inside.

He could then hear a small squealing noise behind him but realized too late that it was the café’s side door. He snapped his head around and sighted the blue-eyed boy and whom he expected was his friend. Heart pounding in his chest and head spinning, he scrunched down and made himself as small as he could between the dumpster and the grease bin, squeezing his eyes shut and silently praying they wouldn’t see him. Lando wasn’t ready to make acquaintances, especially not like this.

“Hey, who’s that?”

A pang of fear encapsulated Lando’s head.

“Who’s who?”

“That person by the dumpster, look.”

_No, no, no, please go away!_

“It’s ok, I don’t want to hurt you. Are you here for the food?” a gentle voice prodded.

_Shit, I said that out loud?_

Tears burned under Lando’s eyelids. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at them.

“It’s ok, we won’t get you in trouble. What’s your name?”

Lando drew a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. He fought his instinct and lifted his head to match the voice. Sitting right in front of him was the blue-eyed boy, joined by his friend. They wore small, encouraging grins and Lando was at least partially convinced they wouldn’t harm him.

“Lando” he managed to squeak out.

“I’m George. I’ve been the one giving you food. I hope it’s been helping.”

Lando could practically melt. The boy even had a beautiful name and voice, and he was also the one giving him the food. The Brit cracked a small smile. “Yeah, it has. Thanks.”

Both of them paused for a brief moment, unsure of how to continue.

George found it in himself to speak again. “Would you like to walk with us? Not all the way to my house of course, but just for a bit? At least until you get wherever you need to be?” he blurted.

Lando mustered a “yeah” and a nod, and George couldn’t be happier or more nervous to finally be talking to his mysterious… crush?

_Ah, yeah, fuck it. I’ll deal with the feelings later._

He stood solely with his crossed legs and extended his hand to Lando below, who took it and used it to pull himself up from his hiding spot. He stood a fair few inches shorter than both himself and Alex, thick curly hair unfazed by the wind whistling through the alley and piercing blue eyes seeming to emit some magnetic pull. George couldn’t bring himself to let go of Lando’s smaller hand, especially when the other didn’t seem to want to let go either.

_God, he’s so adorable._

George had to stop himself from staring at the shorter boy and instead motioned towards the sidewalk with his head. They all strolled out of the alley and George steered them in the direction of the bus station, passing first in front of the café.

Just then, the front door swung open and Damon appeared. His usual plastered smile quickly faded as he stopped in his tracks and stared agape at George and Lando. George quickly yanked his hand away from Lando, but the damage was done.

“George, stop right there!” he shouted after his son. George’s face flashed with heat as he slowly turned to watch his father storm towards him. Damon grabbed him by the back of the neck and quickly pulled him away towards the bus station. Lando and Alex were left standing in shock.

“When we get home, you have a bit of explaining to do!” they could hear him shout at George as his son trundled along next to him, head hung in shame.

Slowly, Lando turned and looked up at Alex, the tears returning to his eyes.

“Can I hug you?” the Thai asked. Lando nodded and was promptly embraced by the taller boy. Lando clung to the back of his shirt and sniffled into his chest.

Alex ran his hand up and down the smaller boy’s back. “It’ll be ok, I promise. George’s father is strict, but not strict enough to ban him from the restaurant, you’ll see him again. Do you need a place to stay? I’m sure my family would gladly take you in until you’re back on your feet.”

Lando looked up at Alex and shook his head. “I couldn’t do that. I don’t wanna be a burden.”

“Honestly, that’s the last thing I’m worried about. I can’t leave you out here with a clear conscious. Please, come with me?”

Lando dropped his arms to his sides and pondered for a few moments, before reluctantly nodding up at Alex.

Alex returned a warm smile. “Cool, let’s go. I promise my mom won’t be mean, ok?”

Lando fell into stride alongside Alex and remained silent, head cast in the shadow of doubt looming over him once again.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A double update?! Insanity!

Damon paced across the kitchen floor, arms crossed, across the island from where George sat hunched on a barstool.

“George, I think you are very aware of my thoughts on _fags_.”

George, ever the stoic, stared straight ahead at the stove clock. He was.

“So, my question to you is: why were you holding a boy’s hand?”

“I… was leading him out of the back alley. He was looking for food.”

Damon halted his pace and looked up at his son. “Y’know George… I have a hard time believing that. Is that what you want to stick with, or would you like to try the truth?”

It was _technically_ the truth.

“That’s what really happened” he affirmed.

“Would you like to know why I don’t believe that?”

_Fuck, no._

“Why?” George sighed, dropping his chin onto his perched fist.

“Because that boy was clean, well-kept, and had a schoolbag on. I do believe kids his age go to school, as I hope you’re smart enough to be aware of, and would not be searching the streets of London for food scraps.”

Damon stepped directly across from George and glared down at him. “Last chance.”

Something inside George snapped. Right here, right now, would be the last time he would be talked down to for living his life how he wanted, for being a kid and enjoying the feelings that were his to have.

George stood, puffing his chest out. “Ok, sure. You wanna know?” he retorted, surprised at his own volume.

Damon stared across, his own eyes lasering directly into George’s brain. He lifted his chin slightly, indicating his willingness to hear. George's heart hammered against his ribcage as he began.

“Maybe I do like him, more than as a friend. Maybe I have feelings for someone, someone other than a girl. Maybe I want to live my life without constantly being harassed for doing so. Consider that!” George spat, proud of his effort.

That night, he lay in bed, bags of ice in towels draped over his bruises. As tears dropped over the edges of his eyelids, his thoughts turned to Lando. He couldn’t even text Alex to make sure he was ok, since Damon had confiscated his phone. He rolled onto his side that was less painful and cried into restless sleep, dreading another workday tomorrow. He’d do it if it meant he could see Lando and Alex, but for his father no longer.

~*~

“Lando, would you like some dinner?” Alex asked, hanging on the side of the doorframe to his bedroom and peering inside. Racing and music posters completely covered the walls of his room and assorted objects were scattered across his bed and floor. A row of small houseplants lined his windowsill, and the room smelled lightly of a floral air freshener.

The younger was lying in Alex’s papasan chair, curled in on himself and hood pulled over his head. “Not really.”

“Well… would you mind at least trying a little bit, please? Going as long as you have without food isn’t good.”

Lando sat motionless.

“I’ll bring it to you. Is that ok?”

“Mmm.”

Alex took that as an “ok” and returned to the kitchen to retrieve a small sample for him. On the walk home, he’d gotten Lando to open up a bit about why he was homeless and for how long. It broke Alex’s heart that such a wonderful kid could be disowned for who he loved. Such was the cruel world, as it were. He’d also pretty easily deduced that this was the kid George had been having mood issues over, but it was no trouble to Alex for this to be the case.

He collected a small portion from the main course and each side onto a plate and carried it back to his room with a fork included. Lando hadn’t moved, so he set it down in front of him. “Please, just try a bit. I made it myself, I’d really appreciate it.” He offered small grin to Lando, who slowly uncurled himself. The little one stretched wide with a bit yawn and regained his bearings. Sighting the food, Lando bent over from the chair and picked up the plate, setting it in his lap.

Alex took to pointing out what everything was. “Here’s a spinach chicken casserole, and then homemade mashed potatoes and wild rice pilaf.”

Lando had to admit, it did look delicious. However, he still felt as though he was already asking too much by staying in the Albon household. Nevertheless, maybe he owed it to Alex to try the food and make him happy. It was all he could do in the moment to show gratitude.

He picked up the fork and scooped up a portion of the casserole, carefully lifting it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, allowing the complex flavors to wash over him. It rapidly overwhelmed his taste buds, and tears began to leak out again. It tasted incredible, and Lando truly felt undeserving. “Do you like it?” Alex tried.

“Yes. It’s amazing,” he spoke after swallowing. “Thank you, so much Alex. I… can’t believe you’re doing this for me” Lando cried, quickly setting the plate on the floor and collapsing into Alex’s arms again.

Lando eventually finished his plate and sheepishly asked for a bit more, which he ate hungrily as well, even sitting at the table with Alex’s mother and siblings for a short while. Alex noticed the boy’s complexion and energy boosting near instantaneously as a result.

That night, Lando insisted on sleeping on the floor in a sleeping bag next to Alex’s bed. This, he could not be persuaded of otherwise, despite Alex offering to sleep on the floor in exchange or on the couch in the living room.

“Are you _really sure_ you’re ok down there?” he prodded one more time as they lay.

“Yes, don’t worry. I’m just… already so grateful for how you’ve helped me. I don’t think I deserve it.”

“Of course you do. Anyone deserves a good life. What you really don’t deserve is what happened to you, or being on the streets one day longer. Me and George will be here for you.”

“I hope we get to see George again.” Lando murmured.

“We will” he reassured. “George’s dad has done worse, sadly. But soon we’ll both be free to live our lives. We’ll take care of you all the way.”

“Thank you, Alex. G’ night.”

“’night, Lando.”


End file.
